


More than a Name

by Northernheart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dubcon Kissing, F/M, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northernheart/pseuds/Northernheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa remembered the words he once told her. She didn't believe him then but she believed him now...<br/>Sansa realizes she can no longer live being married to Petyr Baelish. She decides to escape her husband and meets someone who she never thought to see again along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing fanfiction but a long time Sansan fan! Comments and criticism are welcome.  
> Based on both the books and TV show.  
> Everything belongs to G.R.R.M. Direct quotes are in italics.  
> I don't really know where I'm going with this so tags and warnings could change.  
> ** Petyr Baelish is not portrayed in a positive light in this fic**

Chapter 1  
_There are no true knights._ Someone had told her that once and she hadn’t believed him. The words of a bitter, hateful man; she had called him awful. He had practically laughed at her naivety, making her hate him all the more. Further proof that his words were wind.  
That conversation, with that bitter and hateful man, had been a very long time ago. Now, he was gone. But she was still here and had learned the truth in his words. He had been right and she had been too blind to see. Not any more though; now she was bitter and hateful just like he had been. She wasn’t a pretty, little bird anymore. She was a wolf. And she knew the truth, the world was an awful place.  
Knights didn’t save young women from their seemingly cruel fates. The only person she could rely on for protection was herself. No knight would save her.  
And what was there to save her from? The Lannisters, defeated by Daenerys Targaryen, were no longer a threat to her. Her father was the richest man in Westeros and the Targaryen Queen needed gold, an instant alliance formed between them. It was a favorable alliance for Sansa for it allowed her to discard Alayne Stone and become Sansa Stark, the Princess of Winterfell, again. Heir to a pile of ruins.  
The richest man in Westeros as her guardian and heir to a strong and noble house, Sansa Stark was hardly in need of saving in anyone’s eyes but her own. But Sansa knew she walked on dangerous ground.  
Her cousin, Sweetrobin, died shortly after the Targaryen took her throne. It was hardly a surprise to anyone who had ever met the young Lord. He was a sickly child; no questions were asked.  
After Robin’s death Sansa and Harry the Heir were quickly married. Her father had arranged it all, of course. But her new husband had died too. A hunting accident, just like Robert Baratheon. Such a shame to lose a life so young. Especially one so virile and full of life. The world was an awful place. At least Sansa was no longer destined to spend her life with a man she hardly knew.  
Instead, her next husband was a man she knew all too well, a man who had once been her father. It had made her ill to think of sharing her bed with Petyr. But what was she to do? She had no family left and Petyr said he would help her rebuild Winterfell.  
She was a girl of six and ten and she had no knight to save her. And so she married Petyr Baelish.  
She was lucky compared to some, maybe even to most. Her third husband did not mistreat her. He even loved her, in his way. He was kind, intelligent, and generous to his wife. But he did not fool her.  
She knew enough of Petyr to never cross him. He was a cold and calculating man.  
She did her duty as his wife and let him into her bed whenever he asked. And every time, after he had returned to his bedchamber, she would bathe with water long gone cold to rid herself of the stench of mint that she had come to hate.  
Tonight had been just same except for the utterance of a single word. Cat. Her mother’s name. It was what Petyr had said as he spilled his seed between her thighs.  
Afterwards he had behaved as he normally did, taking her in his arms and whispering sweet words in her ear. Sansa played along just like she always did, letting him hold her, smiling sweetly for her husband.  
But as she bathed herself that night she could no longer play her part. Tears streamed down her face and she shook with rage and shame. He had called her Cat.  
Her poor, sweet mother killed by the turncloak Frey. A kinder woman than Catelyn Stark could not have been found in all of Westeros, nor a stronger woman. Catelyn Stark, formerly of House Tully. _Family, duty, honor_. Her mother had embodied those words.  
Joffery had forced her to live in false shame of her traitorous Father. Like salt rubbed in her guilty wounds. How could her father forgive her after she had betrayed him? She had been a coward and surely he had died hating her for it.  
Her mother though, had died trying to save her and Arya. Sansa had committed no act of betrayal to sully the memory of her mother like she had with her father. At least Sansa had that. Catelyn Stark, a name that filled her with happy memories. Until this night.  
In one moment her husband had turned her mother’s name into something vile. A dirty, nasty, secret Sansa wished she could forget but knew she never would.  
Sansa had heard the stories about Littlefinger and her mother. But words are wind- until they’re not.  
It was wrong. It made her feel ill, even more than usual. And as she scrubbed herself clean she knew that she couldn't be his wife any longer. She had been Alayne Stone for him once and was now Sansa Baelish but she could not be Catelyn Tully. She would not dishonor her mother’s name like that. Not like she had dishonored her father’s.  
She would have to find a way to escape. She did not know what Petyr would do if he caught her. Would he kill her? Would he lock her away in the Eyrie for the rest of her life? It didn’t matter. She had to leave.  
She couldn’t wait for someone to save her. Every day with Littlefinger was a betrayal to her mother; a betrayal to herself.  
No one was going to help her. _There are no true knights_ , he had told her. He was right, she knew that. There was no one she could trust. The only person who had ever told her the truth was dead now.  
Her family was gone but their legacy remained, her's to uphold.  
Eddard Stark had been an honorable man.  
Catelyn Stark had been a strong woman.  
Robb Stark an eager man.  
Arya Stark a brave girl.  
Bran Stark a smart boy.  
Rickon Stark a ferocious child.  
Her family had all earned the right to call themselves Stark, no matter that they were already born with the name. It was time for Sansa to earn that right as well. Sansa could be a Stark too. _Winter is coming_ , and she would save herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's plan to escape is progressing. But will she be able to convince him?

Chapter 2

Petyr Baelish had been true to his word and had sent two dozen men to rebuild Winterfell shortly after he and Sansa wed. That had been over a year ago now, and little progress had been made. The harsh winter made for difficult construction.

In the meantime, she and Petyr remained at the Eyrie. A once welcome refuge from hunting lions, the Eyrie now felt like a desolate prison to Sansa. High in the sky the Eyrie was isolated from the rest of Westeros. Without even Sweetrobin to keep her company, Sansa was almost always alone.

Petyr had promised her that once Winterfell was rebuilt that they would move there. The lords of the Vale didn’t trust him. He would find someone else to rule the Eyrie in his place. Sansa wondered if he would continue rebuilding Winterfell after she had left him. She supposed that he probably would, it was his now, after all.

Winterfell had been the first place she had thought of when she had planned her escape. But she quickly dismissed the idea. It would be the first place he would look for her. She thought of going to the Wall in hopes that her half-brother, Jon, would hide her. But Petyr would know to look there too. No, she would have to go somewhere that Petyr would never imagine she would go. Somewhere entirely new and unfamiliar.

*************

            Sansa and Petyr supped alone in the great hall. Petyr had tried in vain to engage Sansa in conversation a handful of times but was met with terse courtesy and quickly gave up. Sansa’s stomach was in knots. She hoped to put into place the first step of her escape tonight and was nervous. She prayed that her husband mistook her nerves for a simple bad mood. Her plan depended upon it.

            As they finished their meal, both sat in awkward silence, feigning interest in the tapestries on the wall while avoiding each other’s gaze. Finally, a servant entered the hall and broke the silence. In her hands she carried a covered silver platter in which she placed in front of Sansa and quickly left the room.

            Sansa glanced across the table at Petyr and gave him a weak smile. She was accustomed to Petyr’s gifts.

            “Just a small favor for my lovely wife,” Petyr acknowledged, his voice soft and smooth like honey. “Open it, Sweetling.”

            Sansa lifted the lid to reveal a platter full of dozens of lemon cakes. Lemon cakes were her favourite. She could use this.

            “Thank you, my husband,” Sansa murmured as she placed the lid back on the platter and pushed it away from her. “You are too kind.”

            Disappointment flitted across Petyr’s face. He had expected Sansa to be happy with his gift; lemons were a rare commodity now that winter was here.

            “Whatever is the matter, Sansa? Lemon cakes are your favorite. You’re not ill are you, Sweetling?”

            “No, I’m not ill. I’m sorry, I did not mean to sound so unenthused by your gift. It really was very thoughtful.”

            Sansa forced herself to smile at Petyr, though she knew she had not fooled him.

            “Now, now, Sansa, your husband can tell that something is bothering you,” Petyr protested. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m sure there’s something I can do to make it better.”

            “No really, Petyr, it’s nothing.  Just the silly emotions of stupid, young girl. I shall feel myself again soon, I’m sure.”

            “You remind me of her,” Petyr chuckled, “your mother. Catelyn was selfless too. She never wanted to be a burden to anyone either. She would never let me in. But please Sansa, I’m your husband, I should like to know what you are thinking.”

            Bile rose in her throat at his mention of her mother’s name. He wished that she was Catelyn. He wanted her to open up to him in a way that her mother never had. Just like she had let him share her bed the way her mother never had.

            Before, Sansa had known that Petyr had married her not for herself, but for her claim. He had married her because while he was rich he was lowborn. And Sansa had been content with that. It was not as if she herself had married him for love. It was an arrangement that suited them both and he was kind to her.

            But now Sansa knew that it was not just for her claim that Petyr had married her. It was for her long auburn hair and her Tully blue eyes. Everyone had always said how much she resembled her mother.

            It was wrong and it made her angry. Her mother had loved her father. She had loved the children that they made together and had died trying to save them. How dare Petyr pretend it was otherwise, even if it was just for his own, sick fantasies.

            Sansa swallowed the bile and rage building inside her. She had to get away from him but to do that she needed this to work.

            “Well, you see Petyr,” Sansa began, “It really is silly, but I find myself growing lonesome now that Sweetrobin is gone. That is to say, I enjoy our time together immensely. But you are busy with many important matters and I would not wish to take you away from them. Still, I find myself without companionship for many hours throughout the day. I am grateful for all that you have given me and for the protection that the Eyrie offers us, but I am growing restless.”

            Sansa bowed her head and focused on her hands which were folded in her lap. She hoped that she had evoked Petyr’s sympathy and not his scorn with her complaint.

            After a long pause he finally replied, “Of course you are, my sweet wife,” a pained expression on his face. “How could I have been so thoughtless? I should have known that after growing up in Winterfell, with all those siblings of yours, that you would be accustomed more entertainment than this desolate place could ever offer. I have failed you, wife.”

            “No, Petyr!” Sansa begged. “You must not blame yourself. You have given me more than I could ever ask for, more than I deserve. I’m an ungrateful wife, I should have never mentioned it.”

            “Nonsense, I just want you to be happy, Sansa. Please tell me what I can do to help. Shall I arrange for a feast and invite the houses of the Vale? Surely, that would give this place some excitement.”

            “Oh no, Petyr, you must not go to all the trouble just for me. I was thinking that instead perhaps I could visit the Gates of the Moon for a few days. Myranda Royce lives there and though she may be crass I find her company agreeable. Some time with her would be sure to cheer me up. That is, if you will allow me to go.”

            Sansa bowed her head again, hoping she appeared docile and that her husband did not suspect anything.

            “Of course you may go, Sansa,” Petyr replied.  “You’re right that the Royce girl is rather brazen, but I trust that you will not let her get the better of you. I’ll send a raven to the Gates of the Moon tonight and we shall await their response as to when you can visit.”

            It had worked. He had fallen for her plan. A smile spread across her face, she would be leaving here soon.

            “Oh thank you, Petyr!” Sansa beamed. “You have made me very happy!”

            “There’s that smile,” her husband exclaimed. “Now come, Sansa,” Petyr slid his chair backward and patted his lap, “give your husband a kiss and show him how happy you really are.”

            Bile rose in her throat again as she crossed the room towards him. But she was a Stark and she could keep up this charade for a few more days. The world was an awful place, but it was even more awful for those who could not do what needed to be done to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter!  
> I'm slowly coming up with ideas of where to take this next. A certain Hound will be making an appearance soon ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments on the first two chapters. This is my first fanfic and I was quite nervous to post. Your encouragement means more than you know! <3

Chapter 3

            Sansa lay awake in her bed. In the morning she would leave for the Gates of the Moon and the thought of it made her afraid. She had accounted for everything in which she could control but much of her success in the coming days would be determined by luck. Her freedom, her happiness, her life – all left to fate. She was a Stark and she was meant to be brave, but betting her life with the odds stacked so high seemed utterly stupid now.

            She had been sure of herself until tonight, her fear was causing her to doubt. _If only I were not alone_ , she thought. This journey would seem less daunting with someone there to help her along, surely? She knew in her heart that she had to leave but perhaps her escape could wait just a little while longer? Perhaps someone would come to save her and the thought of leaving the Eyrie would not scare her so.

            _Everything scares you. Look at me. Look at me._ He had tried to make her brave.

            _No_. she told herself, _No, you’ve waited long enough already. You’d be a fool to wait any longer_.

            _I could keep you safe,_ he had promised her, but she had been weak. She would not be this time.

            She rose and made her way to the window. She stood shivering as she stared out at the endless sky. Winter was here and soon Petyr would have to leave the Eyrie to wait for summer at the Gates of the Moon. All the more reason for her to leave tomorrow; she needed Petyr high in the sky and powerless when she made her escape.

 Outside the sky was clear and inky black, too dark to see anything below her. It was as if she were suspended in a vast abyss, nothing above and nothing below – as if she were floating in an eerily calm sea as something monstrous swam beneath her, biding its time until suddenly pulling her under. Deeper and deeper it would drag her, no one around to hear her scream.

            She thought of her Aunt Lysa then, thought of the horrified look on her face as she fell through the moon door.  Petyr had pushed her. He had done it to save Sansa. But from that point on she knew just what Petyr was capable of; he would do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

            And yet, Petyr Baelish had wanted Catelyn Tully. After all this time, even after her death, he still longed for his beloved Cat. He would want her mother until the day he died. Sansa knew what it was to desperately want something that she would never have. She almost pitied Petyr.

            _Almost_ pitied him. For then she thought of the kisses he had forced upon her when he was still her father. She thought of who he imagined while he lay with her. The pity died in her bitter heart.

            She had found a way to refuse him on this night. He had visited her bedchamber just as she knew he would. Tucked under her furs she had watched as Petyr made his way to sit on the edge of her bed. He had taken her hand in his, as was their custom when he wished to know her as a husband knows a wife.

            “So beautiful,” Petyr murmured as he stroked circles over her hand with his thumb. “I’ll miss you while you’re away.”

“And I you.” Sansa replied, smiling at her husband, resisting the urge to yank her hand from his grasp.

            He leaned in to kiss her then and she let him, his minty tongue swirling in her mouth. When he moved to peel back her layers of fur he grazed his hand from her breast, across her ribs, and down to her stomach but then stopped suddenly and pulled away from her mouth.

            “What’s this?” he asked, gesturing towards the hot, wool-wrapped stone that Sansa had placed upon her stomach.

            “I’m sorry, Petyr,” Sansa apologized, “my moon blood came early. The warm stone helps relieve the pain.”  It was lie, her moon blood would not come until she was far, far away from Petyr.

            He opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it, as if he thought better of what he was about to say. “No matter,” Petyr sighed, running his hand down his face, stopping to stroke his pointy beard. “I suppose these things are not in your control,” he acquiesced.

            “You will just have to wait until I’m back,” Sansa whispered, angling her chin seductively towards him. “You’ll have to be patient.”

            “I can be patient,” he whispered back, his green eyes scanning as if searching for something in her face.

            With that he kissed her on the cheek and rose from her bed. She watched his lithe form cross the room and linger at the door.

            “I’ll see you soon, sweetling,” Petyr said and then was gone.

            “With any luck I’ll never see you again,” Sansa whispered.

*************

            Her mother was here. She was stroking Sansa’s back as she laid sleeping in her bed. _I’m dreaming,_ she thought.

It was just like when she was young. Arya never had any trouble sleeping. Long days spent scampering about Winterfell meant that she was tired when she came to the bed that she and Sansa shared. But Sansa would often lay awake late into the night worrying over some trivial matter.

On these nights, Sansa would creep into her parents’ room and wake her mother. Catelyn, ever patient, would take Sansa in hand and lead her back to her room where she would stroke her back, never speaking so as not to wake Arya, but giving comfort all the same.

            Sansa was comforted now as she lay dreaming in her bed, breathing evenly so that she wouldn’t wake herself.

            But then a scent so sickening filled her nostrils it caused her heart to stop and her breathing to falter. Ripped from the warm comfort that had embraced her only moments before, realization hit her and she knew what that scent was. It was mint.

            She willed her heart to slow and forced herself to begin breathing evenly again. _Why is he here_? She thought.

She expected him to do something more, but he didn’t. He simply stayed there on her bed stroking her back. Finally, after what felt like an eternity he stood up to leave. But before he went, he leaned down and placed his lips at the nape of her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair.

“Cat,” he sighed and was gone again.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sansa had visited the Gates of the Moon twice before. First, after she had fled King’s Landing with Petyr and again shortly after Sweetrobin had died. Both times she had found Myranda Royce to be a crude yet merry woman. Both times Myranda’s all-encompassing nature had allowed Sansa to stew in her grief while the boisterous woman had done all the talking for her. It was exactly what she had needed and she was happy to call Randa her friend. Sansa would miss her.

There was another young woman at the Gates of the Moon that Sansa was also pleased to consider a friend. Her name was Mya Stone.

Mya reminded Sansa of Arya and not only because of her looks. Like Arya, Mya was sure of herself. She didn’t waste time on girlish fantasies – well, except for one.

The second time Sansa had visited the Gates of the Moon she had noticed something about Mya Stone. She noticed that the usually confident girl occasionally became bashful and shy, tripping over her words, her face becoming as red as a bush full of ripening raspberries. What was peculiar about this, Sansa noticed, was that this happened whenever Lothor Brune was around.

It was Lothor who had volunteered to escort Sansa down the mountain to the Gates of the Moon below. She supposed that was as good a sign as any, for surely he knew that Mya would be tending to her mules once they reached the bottom.

They had started their downward journey before even the servants were out of bed. The sun had yet to rise and it was cold, their breath puffs of white smoke in the crisp winter air. Both were wrapped in furs and hunched close to their mules for the warmth.

Sansa hated the journey down from the Eyrie. Her stomach was in constant knots, every sliding pebble a precursor to her eminent death, one false move and her mule could tumble off the path and send Sansa the way of her Aunt Lysa.

Today though, she didn’t have time to worry about falling. She had a plan to put in place.

Lothor was a quiet man. He had a kind face despite his squashed nose, and he seemed, to Sansa at least, to be an honest man. Honest people tended to be less able to tell when they were being deceived, Sansa knew.

They had spent the first few hours of their journey in comfortable silence. But for her plan to work Sansa would have to get him talking soon.

“A lovely, clear day is it not, my Lord?” Sansa inquired, the sound of her voice causing Lothor to jump.

“’Tis, my Lady,” Lothor agreed, adding nothing more. This wasn’t going to be easy Sansa gathered. Best for her to cut straight to the point.

“Yes, a lovely day,” she repeated. “Lucky for us, too. The weather strongly influences the moods of the mules, did you know? A windy day and they might not be as docile as they are today.”

Lothor did not respond. Sansa glanced sideways at him and he merely nodded his head in agreement.

“Well, that’s what Mya says, anyway,” Sansa continued, peering over at him discreetly.

At the mention of Mya’s name Lothor sat straighter in his saddle. “Does Lady Mya say that indeed?” Lothor inquired as he turned to face her, his eyes alight.

“Oh indeed she does, my Lord,” Sansa enthused.  “Mya knows everything there is to know about mules.”

“She’s a clever girl,” Lothor agreed.

 _Perhaps this will not be as difficult as I thought_ , Sansa delighted.

“A very clever girl. Though slightly on the shy side, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lothor’s brow furrowed, his lips pulling down into a frown. “No, my Lady,” he said slowly. “I have always found her to be quite… amicable.”

“You’re right, my Lord, a more _amicable_ woman could not be found in all the Vale. What I meant was – hmm, how shall I put this? Mya Stone is shy when it comes to... to…”

Lothor had twisted fully sideways in his saddle eagerly awaiting Sansa to continue. “Lady Mya is shy when it comes to what, my Lady?”

“Well, when it comes to men I’m afraid,” Sansa finished.

Confusion washed over Lothor’s face. “Men? Surely a young maiden like Lady Mya should be shy of men?”

“Well, yes,” Sansa agreed. “What I meant to say was that she is shy of one man in particular. That man being you, my Lord.”

Lothor quickly pulled his mule to a full stop, causing it slide slightly on the path. “M-me?” he sputtered. “Surely you can’t mean that she… that she…”

“That she loves you? Yes, that is precisely what I mean,” Sansa stated bluntly.

All the color had drained from his face, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“She sent a raven a few days past telling me so,” Sansa continued quickly. “She said she was going mad with wanting to tell you but that she didn’t have the courage to do so. She asked if I would be able to relay her feelings to you. And I told her I would.”

Lothor said nothing still, though he stared at her, happy disbelief reflected on his face.

“But that’s not all,” Sansa added. “She asked me to ask you something.”

Finally, Lothor spoke, “What does she ask of me, my Lady?” his voice a hopeful whisper.

“She asks you to meet her at the inn tonight. You know, the one that the common folk frequent when in need of a cup of ale. Or a room to spend the night. Truly, she wants you to meet her there,” Sansa responded to the look of doubt he wore on his face. “That is, if you share her feelings, my Lord.”

Sansa stared at Lothor now. His face had gone from white to red, his embarrassment very apparent. He would not meet her gaze. His eyes studying the reigns that rested in his hands. “Aye, I’ll meet her there,” he whispered. Then he raised his face to look directly at Sansa, “Will you tell her I’ll meet her there, my Lady?”

Sansa nodded slowly, stunned that her scheme had actually worked, “Of course, my Lord. I’ll tell her.”

*************

If Sansa thought that convincing Lothor had been easy, then convincing Mya had been like strolling through a godswood.

When Sansa and Lothor finally reached the Gates of the Moon that afternoon, he had taken one look at Mya hurrying towards them and had quickly made off in the opposite direction, apparently he was not ready to face Mya while Sansa was around.

Alone with Mya, Sansa had simply repeated the same story that she had told to Lothor, except that this time it was Lothor who had confessed his love for Mya and it was Lothor who was asking her to meet him at the inn.

After Sansa had finished her story Mya had behaved much as Lothor had. Disbelief clouded her face, but behind that a simple happiness that warmed Sansa’s heart.

Mya eagerly agreed to meet Lothor at the inn, and with that another piece of Sansa’s plan had fallen into place.

Tonight, while the castle was asleep, she would leave the Gates of the Moon, making her way south to Saltpans.

A straightforward plan it might have been, but what Sansa needed was time. Time enough to put as much distance as possible between her and the Gates of the Moon, between her and the Eyrie, between her and Petyr Baelish.

She would leave Myranda a note explaining that a raven had come in the night, informing her that Petyr was ill, and that she had decided to leave for the Eyrie immediately. With Lothor occupied at the inn for the night (and with luck for the next morning and afternoon too), everyone would assume that her escort had accompanied her back to the Eyrie. And Mya would not be around to reveal that Sansa and Lothor could not possibly have left because their mules were still resting in the barn.

If all went according to plan, it would be well into the next evening before anyone caught on to Sansa’s lie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I know I said Sandor would be making an appearance soon - and he still will be. It is just taking me longer than I had thought. But stick with me - Sansan soon enough!  
> Hope you're enjoying so far :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for any typos or errors. One can only stare at a computer for so long...  
> Hope you like it!

Chapter 5

It was good to see Randa. Her incessant chatter, exasperating to most, helped to distract Sansa from the night ahead of her. Together they sat at the high table in the greathall as dinner was served to House Royce and their guests. On and on Randa went about this and that, flitting from topic to topic, as if she hadn’t had a soul to speak to in months. Sansa drifted in and out of the conversation, remarking politely whenever Randa gave pause.

To Randa’s left sat her father, Lord Nestor Royce, silently shoveling food into his mouth which was nearly hidden by his voluptuous beard.  He wore a content expression on his face, as if happy for the reprieve that Sansa provided from his daughter.

To Lord Royce’s left sat Ser Alvin Cox, a handsome man who looked to be just a few years older than Sansa. Sansa had never met him before tonight. She found him friendly enough, if perhaps slightly too sure of himself. She wondered where he was from and why he was here, and grinned to herself as she wondered whether Randa had sunk her teeth into him yet.

As if reading her mind Randa peered past her father towards his guest and inquired loudly, “Ser Cox, do tell us about your home, I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting Saltpans before,” arching her brow seductively and emphasizing the word pleasure.

Sansa had barely been listening but at the name Saltpans her heart skipped a beat. That was where she would be heading if her escape went smoothly tonight. And yet the place held another meaning for her too, it was the place where everyone said he had disgraced himself. Making him not just a deserter but a thief, a murderer, and a rapist too.

Ser Cox, who had been drinking from his goblet, choked on his wine at Randa’s expression but managed to recover himself quickly. “It’s a beautiful place, indeed, Lady Myranda, though not quite so grand as here, but warmer,” he added. Our home overlooks the harbor; we can see the common folk collecting crabs on the beach from our windows.”

                “It sounds lovely,” Randa smiled prettily. “Doesn’t it sound lovely, Sansa?”

                “It does,” Sansa agreed, though thinking it sounded rather dull.

                “The town has recovered since that terrible  _dog_ , Clegane pillaged it?” Lord Royce inquired a disgusted look on his face.

                “Yes, My Lord,” Ser Cox answered. “The town almost looks itself again. One would almost forget that only a few years past it was a pile of ashes. The people though, the ones that survived, they will never forget. The people of Saltpans will forever curse the name Clegane.”

                “As will we,” Randa firmly declared. “A horrible, ugly man who did horrible and ugly deeds. Don’t you agree, Sansa?”

                “ _No_ ,” she thought but quickly agreed with Randa. Sansa never believed that of him. A killer maybe, but never a rapist or a thief. Perhaps that made her naïve but she didn’t care. He had showed her a part of him that night he told her how he got his scars. And though he had meant to scare her she felt as if she had known him in a way that no one had before, had glimpsed a part of him that he had never revealed to anyone one but her. It was not in him to commit such terrible acts.

                Ser Cox nodded his thanks at Randa’s declaration. “A horrible man is right,” he said gravely. “If I ever saw Clegane I would make sure he suffered the most miserable death I could imagine,” the hatred he held towards Clegane seeping into his words.

                “He’s dead,” Sansa said aggressively pounding her fist upon the table, her face becoming heated and red. The rest of the table stared back at her, shocked at her sudden outburst. Embarrassed, she back-tracked, “What I meant was, he is dead and it is a shame he did not get the death that he deserved,” she smiled weakly, hoping they would have to grace to move past her outburst. It was true too, he had tried to protect her a long time ago and he deserved better than dying in pain and alone.

                “You’re right, dear Sansa,” Randa agreed, a curious look on her face, before changing the subject to something more agreeable.

Dinner progressed peacefully after that. Randa continued to talk, taking more and more interest in Ser Cox, Lord Royce continued to eat, and Sansa continued to drift in and out of the conversation. She was preoccupied. Tonight she would leave to start a journey that was sure to be dangerous. One wrong step and she could caught and killed, raped, or taken back to Petyr.

She wondered if her plan to distract her escort and Mya Stone for the night and the next day had worked. They had both agreed to meet at the inn, but would things progress enough that they would stay there? What if they found out it was all a rouse and returned back to the castle early? It would mean she would have considerably less time to put distance between herself and the Gates of the Moon before someone found out that she was gone.

As they were finishing their last course her questions were answered.

“Oh!” Randa exclaimed, turning to face Sansa. “I just realized your escort, Ser Lothor, he’s not here.”

“He’s ill,” Sansa said quickly. “He wished to come to dinner, but I insisted he go to bed and rest,” she added. “He looked terrible.”

“Must be illness in the air,” Lord Royce interjected, his eyes still fixed intently on the last of the pudding remaining on his plate. “Mya Stone is ill too.”

“Is she?” Randa asked. “She didn’t look ill when I saw her this morning.”

“She must be,” Lord Royce said simply. “Had word only moments ago from one of the servants, he said she’s not in the stables with her mules. He thought to look when she didn’t show up for dinner. Nothing gets between that girl and food, except for her mules. If she’s not here and she’s not with them she must be ill in her room.”

It was well past dark now. If Mya stone were coming back to the Gates of the Moon tonight she would have already done so. A rush of adrenaline shot through Sansa, it seemed as if luck were on her side tonight


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dinner had ended hours ago and Sansa was itching to leave. The longer she stayed here the less distance she would cover before someone found out that she had escaped. Leave too early though, and she would risk being caught by someone still awake in the castle.

To pass the time Sansa checked the contents of her bag for the third time that night. Besides not being caught, her first priority would be to stay warm. Winter was here and it was dangerous; it was not unusual for men who became lost in the forest to freeze to death. Which was why Sansa had brought her warmest furs to wear.

Her next priority would be food. Before leaving the Eyrie, she had snuck into the kitchens and filled her bag. Cheese, bread, and dried meats – enough to last her a fortnight, as long as it would take for her to reach Saltpans, if all went to plan.

            She knew the likelihood of everything going smoothly was small. There were too many uncontrollable variables, something was bound to go wrong. But if she were prepared, a small crack in her plan would not destroy it. Which was why she had found a book in the Eyrie’s library before she left, a book about survival – what plants to eat and where to find them, how to build a snare, where to look for shelter, how to build a fire. Growing up she hadn’t been interested in hunting or surviving rough in the forest like her brothers and Arya, she would have to rely on books where they would have be able to rely on experience.

            Her last priority, but perhaps the most important one, would be defence. She hoped she would not find need of it but she had stolen a dagger from the armory at the Eyrie. She did not know how to use it but having it was better than not. She would carry it in her boot and pray that she would never have to use it.

            Besides these items Sansa had also had the forethought to pack most of the fine jewelry that Petyr had gifted her with. She had no gold of her own but perhaps she would be able to sell her jewelry to obtain some, she would never wear it again, anyway.

            Lastly, on top of her bag she placed a rope that she had stolen from the armory as well. She had tied a loop in one end and hoped that it would be strong enough to take her over the wall surrounding the Gates of the Moon.

            She had written the note to Myranda already, explaining that Petyr was ill and that she must return to the Eyrie. She placed it on the small table in her room and hoped that her friend would forgive her for her lie.

            Everything was accounted for, all Sansa had to do now was wait.

*************

Finally, Sansa could wait no longer. Though she was terrified she knew that she must do this. Either leave now or live her life as someone else, someone she could not be.

It was simpler than she had imagined it would be. Sneaking from her chamber, down the corridor, and to the nearest door, she encountered no one. She slipped outside into the darkness, the cold air burning her lungs. There was snow on the ground but the sky was clear, the moon casting shadows over the dense forest that the surrounded the castle. Though it looked uninviting the forest was where she was headed. She was shaking, but she told herself it was just because of the cold. She would not let fear overcome her.

Once outside she leaned against the door she had just come out of, surveying her surroundings, afraid to take one wrong step. Ahead of her she saw fire and moving shapes and knew it was the sentries and their torches guarding the wall from intruders. It was because of them that she could not risk taking a horse. An impossible feat it would be for her to ride through the gates unnoticed. The guards would be on the lookout for enemies attempting to breech the castle walls but not for someone trying to escape them. Still, there was no doubt that they would notice a horse and rider fleeing the gates. Sansa would have to go on foot.

Silently she crept across the yard towards the portion of the wall that was facing south.  Careful of her steps as to not make any noise, she stopped every few feet to insure that none of the guards were looking in her direction. A small distance and yet it took what felt like an eternity, her heart pounding all the while.

Finally she reached the wall. Pressing herself flat against it she willed her heart to slow. The hard stone of the wall was cold against her cheek but it helped to calm her, like an anchor to a ship in a storm. There was a ladder just a few feet from her, soon she would climb it. She could hear a guard above her pacing back and forth. She focused on his footsteps; sixty slow paces to the east before he turned back towards where she stood. She would have to time her dash over the wall precisely.

Quietly she slipped the bag off of her back and opened it. On top was the rope that she stolen from the Eyrie, a loop already tied at its end. She then made her way to the ladder and waited for the guard to reach the spot above her. When he began his sixty paces to the east Sansa began to climb. Slowly she made her way up towards the wall, careful not to slip while counting the paces of the guard, the rope in her hand.

The guard had reached around thirty paces when Sansa reached the second highest rung of the ladder. There she clung listening as the guard move further and further away before turning and moving towards her again. Closer and closer he came as she flattened herself against the ladder, praying that the guard would not look over the wall and see her there.

When he reached the spot above her he stopped and stood for a moment. Sansa’s heart skyrocketed, beating so loudly she was convinced that the guard could hear it. This was wrong, he had never paused for this long before.

_“Keep walking, please keep walking!”_ she prayed. She could not be caught now. She hadn’t even left the castle yet, hadn’t tasted freedom yet. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t come this far to not even make it out of the castle. No. That was not how this would end. If the guard caught her she would fight, she decided, slowly reaching a hand towards the dagger hidden in her boot. She would not go back to Petyr willingly.

Then she heard him walking towards the edge of the wall. In seconds he would be inches from her. She gripped the dagger tight in her fist, looking up towards the wall, ready to strike the moment the guard looked upon her.

But then, before he took what she knew would be his final step towards her, he stopped. He cleared his throat loudly and launched a wad of spit over the wall, narrowly missing Sansa. He coughed a great hacking cough, working more mucus out of his lungs and then spat again before turning to start his sixty paces to the east again.

It took Sansa only a moment to realize that he had not known she was there. She had not been caught after all. But she had no time to rejoice, she had to do this now. Quickly, she stashed the dagger back in her boot and made her way over the side of the wall. When her feet touched the stone she glanced to east and saw the guard moving slowly away from her.

She scrambled to the other side of the wall and hooked the rope over the closest parapet. Again she looked towards the guard. His back was still towards her but she judged that he would turn very soon. Without preamble she swung herself over the wall, gripping the rope as hard as she could and forcing herself not to look down.

One hand after the other she lowered herself to the ground quickly, her heart giving a silent prayer when her feet touched the ground at last. Flat against the wall she waited once again to hear the guard stop above her. Her breath was ragged and her arms were sore but she had made it.

And when Sansa at last heard the guard turn and begin walking away again, she ran. South into the forest Sansa ran as if her life depending on it. She ran and she did not look back.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sansa ran for as long as she could, weaving through trees and over rocks and fallen logs. Occasionally she stumbled, but that did not stop her for long. Though in reality she was running away from Petyr it felt as if she were running towards something. Something she could not see but knew she must reach it all the same.

Up and over she went, through and around. Faster and faster until she felt as though her lungs might burst. Still, she pushed on. Racing towards something. Her long auburn hair trailing wildly behind her.

Eventually she became tired and was forced to stop for a rest. The forest was silent except for the sound of her laboured breathing and the wind whispering through the trees. The moon was full and so she did not need a torch tonight. For this she was grateful, she did not want to attract attention to herself while she was still so close to the Gates of the Moon.

She had not been pursued. As far as she knew her plan had worked and she had escaped with no one the wiser. How long that would last she did not know.

As her breathing began to slow, Sansa noticed how the trees swayed above her, dark shadows dancing in the moonlight. At night the forest seemed an entirely different creature than in the day. The snow beneath her feet was soft and deep, reaching past her ankle. It would make tracking her a simple task. She wouldn’t worry about that now though. She only had to make it to Saltpans and the river Trident would erase any trace of her. Saltpans was freedom.

The realization that she was nearly there hit her then, like a wave crashing over her. Her plan had worked. She had left the Eyrie and the Gates of the Moon. She would never see Petyr Baelish again. She knew she should be elated. There was a long, hard journey ahead of her but she had made it through the hardest part. She should have felt relieved but she didn’t.

She felt bitter and hateful. How different her life had turned out. So different from the life she had imagined for herself so many years ago. Here she was running through a forest in the middle of the night. Running away from her husband, a man who made her skin crawl. A far cry from the life of love and happiness she had imagined. Back then when she had believed in romance and gallantry, when she had wished for chubby blonde children and a husband who loved her. Back then she had believed in knights –  _true knights._

She laughed bitterly now. This was life. Her, here alone. No mother, no father, no one but herself. It was awful and lonely, it was hopeless and sad, but it was real. Life wasn’t pretty like it had been back then. Life was ugly now. No, that wasn’t true she realized. Life was always ugly it was just that she was better at looking at ugly things now.

*************

 

For the rest of the night and through the next day she continued to walk. Through the snow and between the trees she continued south, not stopping to rest again. She was tired and walking kept her warm and awake.

The Gates of the Moon were far away from her now. But as the sun sank on her first full day away she knew that it was only a matter of time. Soon Ser Lothor and Mya Stone would return from the inn and questions of her whereabouts would be raised. Perhaps he had already returned and they had already realized that Sansa was not where she was supposed to be.

Or would they assume she had returned to the Eyrie without Ser Lothor, buying her a few more hours until her escort reached Petyr and realized his mistake? Sansa couldn’t count on that. She had to assume that soon everyone at the Gates of the Moon would realize her deception and would send her husband a raven telling him so.

In the morning riders would be dispatched with hounds to follow her scent. Her only solace was that through the thick trees they would not make fast progress on their horses. In the forest she had the advantage being on foot.

Still, there would likely come a time when Sansa would need to make a run for it. And for that she needed energy. Which was why, as the sun sunk below the horizon, Sansa decided to eat from her supplies and to rest for a few hours.

First though she would build a fire to keep her warm. Petyr’s riders would surely stumble upon it in the next few days and would be ensured that they were on the right track. But they would be following her scent and footprints anyway, a fire would not make much difference. Besides, tonight she needed the comfort a fire would bring.

As she sat by the fire this night, nibbling meagrely on a piece of cheese she was reminded of another fire. A fire of green instead of orange. And she thought of a man who had promised to keep her safe. She thought of a man who had never sought comfort in fire.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Sansa hadn’t slept well, she was too cold despite the fire. But resting had helped her nevertheless. She felt energized and was ready to keep moving.

She rose well before the sun was up and ate again, an apple this time, the sweet juice flooding her mouth and helping to clear her brain. She rinsed her mouth with the last of the water from the flagon she had packed and then filled it with snow for later.

The sky promised a cloudy day. Sansa sighed, she had hoped for sun to warm her. It didn’t matter though, walking would warm her soon enough.

She kicked snow over her fire and moved towards a tree to check that she was still on the right path. Her father had taught her long, long ago, that moss only grew on the north side of a tree’s bark. She needed to move southwards and was happy to see that she had indeed been traveling in the right direction. Walking through the night created the risk of getting turned around and walking in the wrong direction. It was a risk she would take though, Petyr’s riders would never risk their horses through the forest at night.

With not a glance behind her she started to walk. Her muscles ached from shivering and lying on the hard ground. The hem of her dress and cloak were damp, little balls of ice had attached themselves and were trailing behind her like bells on a sleigh. Her hair was wild and smelled of smoke. She saw that her hands were dirty and guessed that her face probably was too.  _Arya would love to see me now,”_ she chuckled to herself. Sansa Stark, Alayne Stone, Sansa Baelish, the Princess of Winterfell, the King’s betrothed, wife of the richest man in Westeros – she wasn’t any of those people now. Out here, it was if they had never existed.

She continued to walk through the day, occasionally stopping to check the trees and ensure that she was still headed south. The forest was quiet save for the sound of her footsteps. She knew of the type of animals that lived here but had not seen any, they had probably been scared away at the sound of her walking. She was glad of it, she had enough to worry over without having to fend off wild animals.

As she walked she pondered at how it felt to not have spoken to anyone in days. She thought of herself as a quiet person, especially so over the past few years. Still, part of her wished for someone to speak to. It was frustrating to be alone with only the voices in her head.

She started to sing then,  _Florian and Jonquil,_  a stupid song but one she knew well. The song was better than silence. Her voice was strong and clear, reassuring her. She was alone but she was alive. She wasn’t Sansa Baelish anymore, nor Alayne Stone. She couldn’t be Sansa Stark anymore either, though she wished she could. For now she would have to be just Sansa.

*************

It was near sundown when she heard it, a branch breaking to her right. Sansa’s heart stopped and she froze in her tracks. Turning slowly she stood facing the direction from which the noise had come from but all she could see were trees.

She could smell something though, something animal and slightly familiar. Her heart was pounding, her feet rooted to where she stood. She had the distinct feeling that something was watching her through the trees and yet some part of her knew that whatever it was it would not hurt her.

She heard it again, the snap of a branch, and the hairs on the back her neck rose. The smell was stronger now and the noise seemed to be closer than when she had heard it before. Whatever it was, it was moving towards her.

 _I should run,_ she thought,  _what if it’s dangerous?”_  But still she stood, waiting for whatever it was to emerge from the trees.

Another breaking branch and Sansa’s eyes flitted to the exact spot she now knew it stood. A pair of yellow eyes starred back at her through the trees. She had been wrong, there was something dangerous lurking in the forest.

Her instincts told her to run, run fast away. But it was as if she had lost all control of her body and she slowly started walking towards what she knew was a wolf. Closer and closer she stepped, stretching her hand in front of her.

When she was a few paces away, the wolf stepped out from the trees and Sansa felt her legs go numb. “Nymeria!” she cried in utter disbelief. It wasn’t just any wolf, it was her sister’s direwolf – she knew it without question.

“Nymeria!” Sansa cried again. Nymeria whined and tossed her head at Sansa. Then without warning the wolf turned and ran back into the trees.

“Wait!” Sansa yelled, hiking up her skirts and taking off after the direwolf. “Come back! Nymeria, come back here!”

Sansa chased her for what must have been only a few minutes, Nymeria always just out of reach. It was if the direwolf was leading her somewhere because she kept glancing back to check that Sansa was still behind her.

Then Sansa heard something else that caused her to falter- yelling. Men yelling. Sansa stopped, wanting to follow Nymeria but not able to risk being caught by whoever was through those trees.

She couldn’t see Nymeria anymore but she could hear the men yelling. She stood silent and still, listening. It sounded as if there were several of them and it sounded as if they were fighting. She heard steel clashing on steel, grunts and cursing.

But then she heard a voice, loud and clear above the others, “Bugger you! You’ll not have my gold!” It was raspy voice, like steel sawing through stone. It was voice that Sansa recognized.

She ran once more, ran towards the voice, stopping just before the edge of the trees, and nearly fainted with the scene that was before her. There, in a clearing, was a giant man fighting sword to sword with two other men. The men were very obviously trying to kill this giant and were doing a good job of it. They were gaining ground and would soon be upon him. It would be all over then.

Without hesitation Sansa grabbed the dagger from her boot and charged towards them. “Noooo!” she yelled. “You won’t hurt him!”

The next thing she knew she was on one of their backs, her dagger plunged into the side of his neck.

“Arrrggg!” the man yelled. He swung up and wretched her off his back, throwing her to the ground. Sansa saw his boot swing as if in slow motion. She did not see it connect with her head though, all she saw was darkness.

*************

Her head hurt and she was cold laying there on the ground. She didn’t dare open her eyes, that would only intensify the pain. She could hear a fire crackling somewhere beside her.  _What happened?_  she thought. The last thing she remembered was running through the forest.

 _Nymeria!_ she remembered. She had been chasing after Nymeria and must have fallen and hit her head. That wasn’t good. She could't afford to lay here for very long. She had to keep moving. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to rest for a little while longer though, she didn’t think she could stand quite yet anyway.

The sound of a man grunting caused her eyes to fly open. There was someone with her.  _Who?_ she panicked. She must have been caught. It must be Petyr beside her now, taking her back to the Eyrie.

Sansa’s eyes scanned around her, looking for her husband. Beside the fire Sansa found the person who had made the noise. It was not her husband.

A face, half of it covered with terrible scars, stared back at her. His eyes were hard and grey, they stared at her with an intensity that she had forgotten.

“Little Bird,” he rasped and Sansa was surrounded by darkness once more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one quick chapter. More to come soon. Hope you like it!

Chapter 9

It was in the early hours of the morning when Sansa woke again. Fog had settled around her, the air damp and cold. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon, barely able to penetrate through the fog, it cast an eerie grey light upon the clearing where she lay. Around her frost covered branches hung, reminding her of summer snows and weirwood trees.

Sansa heard not a sound, it was as though all had frozen except for her; as though the forest slept and she alone were awake. In this moment she felt that if she wished it she could rise and walk into the trees to never be seen again. It would be as if she had never existed, the forest swallowing her in its silence.

She would be content to stay here forever if it were not for the cold and the aching pain in her head. The damp ground and air had soaked through her clothes. A layer of frost covering the furs that had been placed upon her.

She didn’t try to raise her head but flicked her eyes over to where the fire had once burned. Now just a pile of glowing coals it did little to provide heat.

Past the fire, close to the trees, stood a black stallion. Eyes closed and completely still, the puffs of misty white escaping from his nose were the only way to tell for certain that he was sleeping and had not frozen in the night. _Stranger. So it’s true,_ she marvelled, _he’s alive. He’s here._

Only then did she let her eyes fall on the spot where she knew he slept. Legs stretched out, his head resting against a boulder, frost clinging to his bearded face. _He’s alive._

His brow was furrowed and his lips pulled into a frown. Never at peace even in sleep.

He wore armour now. She remembered he had not been wearing it when she saw him fighting off his attackers. They must have fallen upon him unaware. He wouldn’t make that mistake again she knew. He looked a warrior now, always prepared.

His sword lay on the ground, next to his left hand. She noticed then that he did not have gloves. Through the dark hair that dusted the back of his hand she saw that the skin was red and raw, chapped by the wind. He had suffered in the cold. She wished in that moment to take his hand between hers and place her lips upon it, warming it with her breath. Perhaps if she could have moved she would have. She craved the touch of his skin, craved to feel just how alive he really was.

Time stood still for Sansa then. Her eyes only intent on this man, a man she thought had left her long ago. Yet here he was right before her. His chest rising and falling slowly, very much alive. In this moment, as the forest slept, it was as if it were only him and her.

*************

He awoke slowly, the briefest of smiles gracing his face, his eyes on what remained of the fire though not yet focused. Stretching first his toes and then working slowly up his body, his armour quietly groaning in protest. He sat up gently, stretching his arms and turning his face to Stranger.

It was then that his memory found him. Sansa saw his eyes widen before he quickly turned to meet her stare. He had forgotten she was there.

Sansa smiled then, “It wasn’t a dream. Here I am and there you are. Sandor Clegane.”

His eyes were alight with wonder, disbelief written across his face, an emotion she had never seen in him before. “Aye, little bird,” he nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her. “Here you are.”

She knew not what to say. So many questions she wanted to ask and yet most of them she did not need answered. It was enough – he was enough.

“I thought you were dead,” she stated simply.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I am, as far as most believe. Better that way, I was a wanted man. The butcher of Saltpans is what they said.”

“I never did,” Sansa said, her eyes intent on his. “I knew you were not capable of such things,” her voice firm, convincing.

Anger clouded his eyes then, though only for a moment. He nodded his chin toward her, “Your head. How does it feel?”

“It hurts,” she admitted but moved to prop herself up on her arms so as not to seem weak in front of him. Her head swam as she lifted it and she closed her eyes for a moment to allow herself to adjust.

“I can’t stay here. He’ll be after me by now,” she said determined, eager to show him she was not the weak girl he had known many years ago.

“He? That’ll be your husband, you mean?” His tone was harsh now, his words biting her like an icy wind.

She wanted to deny it. She wanted to yell that he wasn’t her husband anymore. But he would mock her for that. _A hound will die for you, but never lie to you._ And she would not lie to him now. So she said nothing and that was answer enough for him.

“The little bird has finally left the nest, is that it?” he scoffed. “When did you become so brave?” not waiting for her to answer he continued, “Finally learned the way of it then? Finally learned that true knights don’t exist?”

“I’m here alone aren’t I?” she challenged, angry at him now. “Yes I finally learned, after years of waiting for someone to come. Well, no one did. You were right, true knights don’t exist.” She was almost yelling now, her hands clenched into fists and her face becoming warm, tears threatened to fall but she would not let them.

“Years I waited for someone to come. Years I wasted. My mother, Robb, Ser Dontos – all dead. And then he came, my saviour. Or so I thought. He was my father and then my husband. I never wanted that. But I endured him. And yes, I learned. I learned that no one was coming. I learned that I was alone. I always was. A wolf without a pack.”

She was seething now, her body trembling with anger. She was maddened by her stupidity, by the years she had wasted on waiting. Her angry eyes met his, waiting for him to mock her again.

His face had been clouded with anger and confusion as she spoke, but now his eyes met hers in challenge. “Aye, little bird, you’ve learned. You’ll find no gallant knight to rescue you now. But you're wrong about one thing, you were not always alone. I asked you once, you remember? I said I would keep you safe.” He moved quickly towards her then, on his knees, his face inches from hers. “You couldn’t look at me then. Aye, I scared you. Might be I still scare you. But can you look, little bird? Here’s your saviour, though I’m no _true_ Knight.” He moved to grab her shoulders then, his face filled with rage still inches from hers. “An ugly dog, here for you. Look at me!” he shook her and she felt the pain in her head stronger than before.

“I am looking!” she shrieked, wrenching her shoulders from his grasp. “I see you, Sandor Clegane.”

The anger had left him now and he stared at her curiously. He stood, his eyes still on her and nodded. “Good,” was all he said. And then he bent and lifted her, cradling her aching head in the crook of his arms.

He walked with her towards Stranger. “We best be out of here then, little bird,” he said lifting her onto his horse before swinging up to sit behind her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to keep working on this fic again! I apologize for abandoning it for so long for all of you who were enjoying it. And thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos - you inspired me to keep writing :)

Chapter 10

It was the hounds that broke the silence. They hadn’t spoken since he had asked her where she was headed. Saltpans she had told him. After that a ship to Bravos, a place that Petyr would never think she would go.

The fog had not lifted and Sansa wondered how Sandor knew that they were going the right direction. She would not question him though, she did not want to evoke his scorn. Besides, she was grateful to not be walking, even if they weren’t going the right way. The amount of pain she felt in her head she had not experience since King’s Landing when Joffery had had her beaten. She could feel a large bump forming just above her ear, the skin around her eye tender. Quick movements made her head reel.

Lulled into a false sense of security Sansa had been resting her head against Sandor’s armoured chest as Stranger walked. At the sound of howling she jolted upright, white hot pain flashing across the left side of her head. This was it; Petyr was coming for her.

“Sound closer than they really are,” Sandor croaked. “Rest your head.”

 Heart still pounding despite his reassurance, Sansa spun wildly around, looking for the hounds and the riders that would follow them. She had expected this, to have to run for her freedom. Or to have to fight for it. Still, she had not expected him to catch up so quickly.

“We must go quickly now,” she urged, turning in the saddle to face Sandor. “I’ve come this far. I can’t go back to him.”

“The wind carries the sound, they’re at least half a day away. Fretting about it won’t help your head.”

  Sansa did not relent. She stayed staring up at Sandor, her eyes fierce and locked with his. Half a day away or not, their pace was too slow. They needed to move, to hell with her head.

Rolling his eyes Sandor sighed, “Fine. We’ll gallop for a time. There’s a river up ahead, they’ll lose our scent once we cross it.” Raising his arm across her collarbone he pushed her so that her back was once again flush against his chest.  With a click of Sandor’s tongue Stranger began to gallop and Sansa settled herself against him, their bodies swaying with Stranger’s rhythm.

*************

            By the time they settled around the fire that night they had not heard the hounds for many hours. They must have lost their scent when they came upon the river. Sansa prayed silently to the gods that they would not pick it up again.

            Perched upon a rock Sansa nibbled pitifully on some of the dried meat she had remaining in her bag. Wordlessly she had handed Sandor a portion of the meat and he had accepted with a gracious grunt.

            Across the fire he sat now, polishing his sword with a well-used rag, his eyes intent on his task. In the dim firelight Sansa watched his hands. Large, strong, and capable they worked the rag along his sword long after it shone. Again she noticed how the cold had affected him, his knuckles red and cracked, unconsciously she pulled her cloak tighter to her as though she could keep out the cold for him.

            “Nymeria,” Sansa spoke, pulling Sandor’s eyes from his sword to meet hers, “my sister’s direwolf, you remember? She found me walking through the forest, I followed her until I heard you in the clearing. I haven’t seen her since though,” Sansa said looking at her feet. “I hoped she would have reappeared by now.”

            “Starks and their wolves,” Sandor said shaking his head. “Animals turn up when they want to be found. It would be no use looking for her.”

            Ignoring him Sansa continued, “It was like she led me to you on purpose. She wanted me to follow her.” Sansa looked at him defiantly now, challenging him to mock her.

            “Your sister would believe that nonsense too, I’m sure. More a wolf than a girl that one.” Seeing the look of confusion on Sansa’s face he continued, “She’s alive, your sister. Or at least she was when I last saw her a few years back. We travelled together for a time. I found her - stole her really, so that I could ransom her to your mother and brother and buy my freedom.” Suddenly he was interested in polishing his sword again and after a pause just long enough for Sansa to think he had finished talking he slowly began again as if he wasn’t sure she’d be interested in what he had to say, “She left me dying on the very banks of where we’re headed, your sister. I was full of holes and burning with fever and she wouldn’t grant me the mercy of a quick death. Can’t say I’m sorry now though.” He had stopped polishing and was looking at her again.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think. Arya was _alive._ Arya with those grey eyes and that sly grin. Arya, her sister who hated sewing and loved to fight. Sansa felt tears welling in her eyes and smile spreading across her face. Her annoying sister Arya who had once thrown a snowball at her and then had run away laughing as Sansa had screamed and stomped her foot was alive. The same little girl who had stitched sheep dung into her mattress and left Sansa wondering where the smell was coming from for days was out there somewhere.

Before she could help herself tears were spilling down her face and she let out a strangled laugh. _Oh Arya._ She looked to him, shaking her head and unable to speak, tears flowing down her face. He looked back, his mouth agape and Sansa realized that he was afraid. _He must think I’ve gone mad._

“I – I,” she tried to explain but the laughter bubbled in her throat again and ended in a desperate sob.

At that he rose from where he was sitting, never taking his eyes off her. He held her gaze as she continued to cry and to shake her head for she could not convey the bitter happiness and the joyful sorrow she was feeling just now. He looked at her with confusion and something else that she could not place before nodding his head just once and turning abruptly to walk towards the trees.

Once he was out of sight Sansa realized that he had left to give her privacy. He had left her to deal with the overwhelming knowledge that her sister was, in fact, alive. All these years of living without hope, of believing she was the only one left, of finding happiness in only her memories began to drift away from her as she continued to cry. _Arya is alive_ , she thought as turned her head towards the night sky.

“Arya,” she whispered. “Arya Stark,” she said to the sky, louder now. It felt good to say her name. “Arya,” she said again and she didn’t care who heard her. She hadn’t said Arya’s name in years, had barely even allowed herself to think it. But now she couldn’t stop herself, as if time every time she said Arya’s name the more alive she became.

“Arya,” she was pleading now. Over and over, her body racked with sobs in between saying her sister’s name. Again and again she pleaded to the sky for her sister to really be alive. What would she give to have a piece of her family back? What would she give to know that her sister was safe? She knew the answer was anything.

“Arya,” she whispered one last time, wiping her eyes and making up her mind. She would find her sister. No longer was this just about escaping Petyr. She was not the last remaining Stark and she would do anything in her power to find Arya. _Winter is coming_ , those were her house’s words and yet it was the words of her mother’s house that rang in her mind now: _Family, duty, honor_.

In the distance Sansa heard a wolf howl. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting! I'm a slow writer.   
> Let me know what you think!

He returned a few moments after she had quieted and busied himself with laying out his furs next to the fire, refusing all the while to look at her. She knew she should feel ashamed of her outburst but could not yet bring herself to feel that way. Keeping up her icy façade was not important just now; her sister was alive and that was all that mattered.

A cold wind blew through their camp cooling the tears she had not realized were still there on her cheeks. Sansa wiped her face and rose from where she sat to lay out her own furs by the fire. Tonight would be a coldest night yet she knew, the wind carried that cold undercurrent that Northerners were so accustomed to, and if she had to wager she would put a stag on snow tomorrow.   

Last night they had slept on opposite sides of the fire and aside from when she had been knocked unconscious her sleep had been fitful since leaving the Eyrie. Tonight would be no different, she would wake every few hours shivering from the cold and her only solace was that she could rest during the day while they rode. Sandor couldn’t though. He had to keep a vigilant eye out for Petyr’s riders and for those who sought to rob him like the men that had happened upon him only a few days ago.

Their chances of survival increased with being well rested, with  _him_ being well rested, which was why they would share each other’s warmth tonight she decided. Sansa walked over to where Sandor had settled facing the fire just a few feet away and dumped her bundle of furs in front of him.

His eyes had been closed but they flew open now and met hers with an almost cautious look upon his face. “What are you doing little bird?” he rasped.

“It’s cold,” she stated, rolling out the furs with her foot.

 “And what would your septa say if she knew you were sleeping next to this scarred old dog?” he mocked but shifted slightly backward to give her room to lie down nevertheless.

“I don’t have a septa anymore,” she replied with her back to him as she settled herself into the furs. “I’m a woman married three times over.”

“Aye, and what would your  _husband_  say if he saw you now?” There was malice in his voice now and after the events of the night Sansa was in no mood to answer his questions.

“I suppose he’d be rather angry,” she said, barely trying to keep the irritation from her voice, “but then I suppose I don’t care what he would say.”

“Ha!” he barked and she felt him shift so that he was peering down at her. “You’ve changed little bird. That’s twice now that you’ve shouted at me. Tired of chirping are you?”

“I didn’t shout at you just now,” she said, her irritation at him rising by the moment. Of course she had changed, he had seen to that hadn’t he?

“No but you wanted to.”

“And how would you know what I want? Or are you just so accustomed to people shouting at you by now that you assume everyone wants to do so?” She knew she was being ridiculous because she  _did_ want to shout at him. But how he could make her go from being pathetically happy that Arya was alive to seething mad all in one evening was beyond her comprehension. And why did he have to keep bringing up Petyr when she was trying to forget him?

She could feel his chest vibrating with laughter behind her despite him having his armour on. “Don’t ruffle your feathers too much little bird. Though I will say I prefer your shouting to chirping. We should sleep now,” he continued quickly before she could protest that she had not shouted at him. “We have another long day of riding ahead of us tomorrow if we want to make it to Saltpans anytime soon.”

_Saltpans_. It was the place where he had seen Arya last and for the first time that night realized that they would likely need to change their destination if she was going to find her sister.  Her anger was leaving her now and she knew that she wanted him to help her find Arya. She would go at it alone if he refused but having him by her side would certainly be to her advantage.

“I want to find Arya,” she said deciding that blunt honestly was the best way to approach him.

“Figured you might,” he said shifting onto his back, his voice devoid of any hint as to what he thought of the notion.

“Did she say where she was headed after she – after she  _left_  you?” She asked wanting to tiptoe around her sister having left him for dead.

“No she didn’t say,” she could practically hear him scowl. “That little she-wolf stopped being my problem when she left me bleeding. What makes you think I’d help you find her? What makes you even  _want_ find her? You two are nothing alike, she’s a buggering cunt and you’re -”

“Stop it!” she cried, flipping from her side to glare down at him. “She’s my sister – we may have our differences but she’s _my sister_.” He was angry, his eyes hard steel glaring back at her.  “Besides, I thank the gods she didn’t fulfil your death wish or else I’d still be morning you.”

Something changed in him then. She could have been mistaken looking down at him with only the light of the fire to see but she could have sworn she saw shock flit across his face before settling into a blank stare.

“Bravos,” he sighed eventually. “She didn’t say where she was going but if I were her I would have gone to Bravos. There would have been plenty of ships nearby to take her there and she was running... Just like you are now.”

Relief swept through Sansa and she let go of a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Bravos made sense. Arya would not have been foolish enough to return to Winterfell. Arya was smart and would have gotten herself as far away from Westeros as she possibly could. It wasn’t a sure thing but it was a place to start and she was grateful for it.

****************************************************************************************************

She woke in the middle of the night to him snoring, the bitter cold an afterthought to the noises she was hearing. He was lying on his back making sounds she would liken to a bear if she had ever seen one in the flesh. Turning to look at him she couldn’t help smiling as she imagined Sandor as a giant beast. _He’s covered in hair just like a bear_. She thought of his beard and how it had changed from a thick stubble to something she could run her fingers through in just a matter of days.

Harry had snored occasionally during their brief marriage, usually when he had been in his cups. She was a light sleeper and would gently nudge him in the ribs getting him to turn on his side. She was reluctant to do that to Sandor though. He was _clearly_ in a deep sleep and she did not want to disrupt him. Instead she contented herself with studying him.

She could not say he looked peaceful though his features had softened somewhat compared to how he looked when he was awake. The scowl that he so often wore had disappeared and without it it was easy for her to forget how quickly he could irritate her. She noticed how long his eyelashes were as they lay against his face and the slight spattering of grey in his beard. _He didn’t have that in King’s Landing_ , she mused.

A particularly loud snort shook her from the sort of trance she had been in and she scrambled back onto her side as she realized he had begun to shift in his sleep. She lay silently for a few moments praying that he had not caught her staring. He had stopped snoring now but she was soon relieved to hear his breathing even out.

She shivered, her body remembering that it was cold now that she was not preoccupied with watching him. She tried to focus her mind on the sound of his breathing, hoping that his rhythm would lure her to sleep. But try as she might her body could not ignore the cold and she continued to shake.

She had just resigned herself to a cold and sleepless night when she heard him sigh beside her and felt him begin to move. When she heard the unmistakable noise of him unclasping his armour she realized that he was awake. She wondered why in the name of the gods he would be taking off his armour after what had happened to him the last time he had slept without it.

Her question was answered only moments later when he lay back down on his side, closer to her than before, and said, “Here little bird,” as he reached his arm over her and moved her towards him. Her back to his chest, the back of her thighs pressed to the top of his, she stopped shaking almost immediately as the heat of his body seeped through her clothes.

Her body gradually relaxed into his and she felt the urge to succumb to sleep wash over her. “Thank you,” she said for the second time that night.

He grunted in reply and then added, “I’ll try not to snore.”

Sansa smiled and let sleep overtake her.


End file.
